I nod, the path forward becoming clearer as we talk. "I think I need to. But I need time first. To think. To be sure I'm not just getting swept away by pretty words."
"Take all the time you need," Tristan says. "We're not going anywhere."
The simplicity of his promise—we're not going anywhere—settles something inside me. Whatever happens with Alexander, whatever complications arise as we figure out this unconventional family we're creating, I have these two men as my foundation. My constants.
"Thank you," I say, the words inadequate for the depth of what I'm feeling. "For listening. For understanding. For not making me choose."
Julian's arm tightens around me. "That's what this is all about, right? Not forcing someone into a box, but giving them room to be fully themselves."
And as they both move to hold me—Julian still beside me, Tristan abandoning the coffee table to join us on the couch—I realize that this, right here, is worth fighting for. Worth figuring out the impossible logistics. Worth taking a risk on Alexander and the complicated future that awaits us all.
I wake up the next morning to a text from Tristan:Just us today. Pick you up at 11 for lunch?
The text makes me smile. After last night's emotional conversation, the thought of a day with just Tristan feels like exactly what I need—uncomplicated, fun.
After working from home for a few hours, I throw on my yellow sundress, its soft fabric skimming over the curve of my belly, and slip into sandals just as my phone buzzes with his arrival.
Tristan waits by his car, leaning against the sleek black exterior with casual elegance that makes my heart skip a beat. He's dressed down today—jeans and a light blue button-down with the sleeves rolled to his elbows, exposing the strong forearms I love to trace with my fingertips.
"You look beautiful," he says as I approach, his eyes taking me in with that focused attention that I love. He opens the passenger door with a small smile. "Ready?"
"Where are we going?" I ask as he slides into the driver's seat beside me.
"Nowhere in particular." He starts the car, his profile strong against the morning light. "I thought we'd just... be together. No agenda."
The city unfolds around us as we drive, eventually parking near the park. We walk together, his hand finding mine so naturally it makes my chest ache. This man, so reserved with others, touches me with such intimacy—a hand at the small of my back, fingers laced through mine, knuckles brushing my cheek. Small claims staked in quiet moments.
We find a small Italian café for lunch, sitting outside under a striped awning as people pass by on the sidewalk. Tristan orders for both of us in perfect Italian that draws an appreciative smile from our waiter.
"Show-off," I tease, nudging his foot under the table.
"If you think that's impressive, wait until you hear my French." His eyes crinkle at the corners, the rare full smile that transforms his usually serious face.
"Mmm, I’d like to hear that in the bedroom," I say, feeling bold and playful in the sunshine.
His expression shifts almost imperceptibly, humor giving way to something deeper, more intent. He reaches across the table, taking my hand and turning it palm up. His thumb traces the lines there with deliberate slowness.
"What are you doing?" I ask, my voice coming out softer than intended.
"Memorizing you," he answers simply.
Tristan has always been sparing with his words, careful with his emotions. It's part of what draws me to him—the sense that when he does share something, it's because he means it completely.
"Tristan..."
He looks up then, his blue eyes holding mine with an intensity that steals my breath. "I love you, Camille."
The world narrows to this moment—his hand holding mine, the quiet certainty in his voice, the weight of those three words from a man who doesn't say them lightly.
"I know the timing is complicated," he continues, his voice low. "With Alex, with everything. But I needed you to know."
"I love you too," I whisper, the words rising from somewhere deep and true. "So much."
His hand tightens around mine, his exhale soft but audible. He raises my fingers to his lips, pressing a kiss against my knuckles that somehow feels more intimate than if he'd kissed my mouth.
We finish lunch in a golden haze of quiet conversation and lingering touches. As we walk back toward the car, Tristan guides me in a different direction.
"I thought we might stop somewhere first," he says, nodding toward a store across the street. The window display features tiny clothes and plush animals—a baby boutique, elegant and understated.
